Patchwork
by Doublebee
Summary: "H-hideous markings don't deserve to be touched."


It surprises Soul when he doesn't hear the shower running as he wakes up.

But it's too early for worrying, or concern. Fuck, it's too early to be alive, or part of the dammed human race. The weapon grunts as he rolls up to sit in his bed, spine cracking multiple times in the process, which leads to neck and shoulder cracking. When Soul finally finds the strength and willpower to drag himself out of bed, he hisses as the balls of his feet hit cool, wood flooring.

He trudges down the hall, his eyebrows furrowing in slight confusion as he sees the bathroom door left ajar and the light on. Seeing as Maka takes **forever** with petty things, and he wants an appointment with the shower, he shoves the door open.

And there's Maka.

She stands in front of the mirror, her face rather blank as she stares at her reflection, her fingers tracing odd patterns on the skin not under her yellow bath towel. Her hair is limp and soaking, and Soul frowns when she doesn't respond to his barging in.

"Maka?" He asks, stepping behind her to hold slender shoulders kindly. "What's wrong?"

She is silent, and this scares the daylights out of him. Skilled fingers stroke her damp flesh, trying to get her to do something besides stand and stare at herself so… blankly. It's rather disturbing and worrisome to the weapon, but when she cranes her neck to look at him; he notes her eyes are glazed with tears.

"Are you okay? Are you hurt?" He fires millions more questions at her, turning her completely around so he can see her front, of which she was looking over. It takes him a moment, but he catches the shine of one… two… four… seven…

About twenty-one scars in total, that cover her arms, neck, collarbone and face.

He admits, they don't look bad in the slightest. They're more or less completely faded into her pale skin; the only way for said details to be seen would be in the glimmer of light. But the drops of water the slide down her shoulders and arms make them apparent, at least, to his keen eyes, and he can almost momentarily understand what she's been doing.

Her head crashes against his (bare) chest, her tears freezing against his fire-like skin. Strong arms grip around her shoulders as Soul guides the trembling Maka back to her room, and lets her fall down to sit on the side of her bed. She doesn't let go of him, though, she only yanks him to sit beside her so she can continue crying. But he pulls her head away from his chest, holding her chin in his palm, fingers curling around her strong jaw line as she sniffles and struggles to blink away more tears.

"Stop," he murmurs, strong hands moving to wipe the tears that haven't dripped down off her face. "I know what you're thinking. _Stop_. It doesn't help."

He speaks of experience, if course. When he'd gotten his own scar, he avoided doing anything that involved being shirtless. People stared at him enough for the albinism traits that made him stand out more than anything.

But, being self-conscious just is what it is, and he understands. All the battles they'd been in recently only resulted in Maka's injury, be it slender cuts or large lacerations, Stein had been patching the poor girl up after almost nearly every single mission, their last one the worse. Their enemy, sneaky son of a bitch, had planted small, less-than-satisfactory landmines along their battlefield (which was really just a clearing in the freezing forests of Colorado) which made the rocks in the ground perfect shrapnel, damaging both weapon and meister severely.

Needless to say, Maka had become a bit of a ragdoll in the past few months.

And now, she sniffles hopelessly, pulling up the towel that kept her remotely clothed in Soul's presence as her head rests against his shoulder. He lets pianist hands pull back her damp hair so it doesn't get in the way of her face, and notes another scar that makes a long 'U' shape from the hollow of her neck to the middle of her spine. She shivers when he traces it with a fingertip, before kissing said appendage, and pressing it to her scar there.

"Stop," she whispers, her voice cracking. "H-hideous markings don't deserve to be touched."

"Maka!" Soul gawks, pulling her off his shoulder in order to look her directly in those glassy viridian eyes. "Don't _ever_ say things like that, do you hear me? _Ever_."

She bites her lip nervously, like a child who's just been scolded for stealing the last cookie in the jar. Her toes knot together on the floor as she sniffles once more, shrugging her shoulders shyly. "Sorry…"

Soul only shakes his head at her, though, disappointed with her response. His hands tilt her head to the left a bit, and in a moment, warm lips are being pressed to the patchwork of nearly-invisible scars from ear to collarbone. She squirms hopelessly against him, her mouth crying out shaky and untrue "stop its!" and "what are you doings?". But Soul only shakes his head against her, his fingers reaching to pull down her towel and reveal more scars to his eyes that have never seen the light of day.

"There is _nothing_ hideous about you, Maka. Not even these," he tells her in a possessive growl of a tone, velvet lips kissing up a rather large pink like that runs from her ribcage up the side of her right breast. She squirms, and pretends its water from her bangs that drip down her face at his words.

"Not a single part of you is hideous."

His shower of kisses and comforting pets make her voice strangled cries as he makes his way down her satin skin, making sure to cover each and every single scar with enough kisses to cover the line that runs on her body. He isn't looking for anything more, she can tell by the way his lips keep a favorable distance between her nether regions, skipping down to kiss her thighs. The action involves him to kneel before her, to assure her kisses every single one precisely, not beside the scar, but directly atop it.

"You're perfect, no matter what you look like, master."

He's kneeling before her. He's _kneeling_ before her, like a _servant_. It makes Maka's stomach lurch; he is her equal, nothing lower. But she knows he thinks otherwise, and she cannot find the words to scold him with at the moment.

His affection is too much for her to handle in such a state.

"Nothing is wrong with you. Not in the slightest."

Maka sobs, she sobs so loudly she must double over and grip handfuls of his hair between her fingers to keep from screaming full-out. Her face is dripping with tears she can no longer hide nor deny. But Soul doesn't move up to comfort her, not yet. He makes sure to kiss every single scar on her legs and ankles—there are none on her feet, thanks to steel-toed boots—while his hands rub her legs in soothing circles as he finishes his over-look.

"You are the most _beautiful_ creature I've ever seen, Maka."

She doesn't worry over being stark before him anymore, only leans over to clutch him desperately in her arms. She cries quietly against his shoulder; the left one, where his own scar begins. Maka pulls back a bit from him, sniffling back her tears for a moment, before she kisses it. Again, again, again, until she too kneels on the floor, her bareness pressed against his chest when she finishes showering him in kisses. His hand fumbles to reach her towel from the bed behind her, and he drapes it over her shoulders, to assure she doesn't hit him, or get too embarrassed by his actions.

"Never say that again." He tells her, sternly. She nods, wrapping the yellow towel around her middle as his hands rest over her slender shoulders, his lips pressed to her forehead in a half-kiss.

"You're beautiful," Soul whispers, his voice sounding weak. "You're _so_ beautiful, Maka…"

She bits her lip until the taste of copper floods her mouth and tears of pain bite at the edges of her eyes. Speaking would be too much for her, so she will listen to his words for the time being. Her head comes to lay against his chest, and he sits back, holding her in his lap as he does so on the floor. Large hands brush through her limp hair, and she closes her eyes, smiling peacefully against her weapon.

"Gorgeous, perfect master."

Maka doesn't feel upset this time when she wraps her arms back around him, basking in his warmth. His kindness and unwavering loyalty to her mean the world, and she wouldn't change a single thing about him. Unless, she could make him a bit less self-conscious…

"Thank you," she whispers against his shoulder. He feels her smile, and his own smirk cracks across his lips.

"Anything for you."

~O-O-O-O~

** I um. I need to lay off the Roleplays. **

** Hope the errr, mass amount of fluff here didn't give you cavities or whatnot. But yeah. Heh. Cute fluff is cute?**


End file.
